Pills.
The taxi screeched abruptly to a halt, piercing the dark night with the echo of tyres on tar. A black cat darted in front of the car, yet only the fluorescent yellow lights could be seen; a bad omen for the night, thought the man. He readjusted himself in his seat, fiddling with the settings on his camera and let out a soft sigh.

“Sorry, Sir,” mumbled the driver wearily, this was obviously his last shift.

He wasn’t much to look at, his ragged beard was matted and unkempt with his face in need of good scrub; black marks and smudges covered his face. Tatty, thin clothes hung upon his lanky structure, despite the chill in the air outside. Yet his eyes concealed something of a mystery, the dark pupils contained a glint of spirit in contrast to his crumpled face.

Pulling up against the curb opposite the club, he fumbled in his pocket and handed the driver a few crumpled notes. The driver grasped them in his hand and hadn’t time to look back before the passenger had seized his suitcase, exited the cab and crossed the road. He spun around just in time to see the taxi driver gawping, mouth open at the notes in his hands, before striding inside.

A loud drum beat boomed out of the door followed by an upbeat dance melody. As the man stepped inside, he was greeted with flashing coloured lights and bubbles floating around the swirl of moving people. Surreal and in slow motion, this haven for teenagers glimmered with sparkle from every corner.

Slipping over to the bar, a group of girls dressed lightly for the time of year, giggled as he sat down. Crowded and stuffy, it was hard to breathe, and to spot her. His eyes darted around the room. Couples embracing and stumbling drunks met his eyes; some slumped in armchairs. Out of the corner of his eye, she swam into vision.
She didn’t particularly stand out from the crowd bustling and laughing around her. Fairly tall and slender, her long auburn hair glimmered with hints of red as it caught the light. A small button nose, prominent green eyes and a dazzling smile – was this something special? She was Daddy’s only princess.

Surrounded by a group of people – she’d always been popular – she sipped at her cocktail. He knew what she was about to do. Since the day he’d laid eyes on her sparkly character, she’d never been far without him following – little did she know.
He slunk into the shadows of the darkest corner and unlocked the case with silver encrusted keys. Fumbling with the lock, it snapped open and he removed the camera. Poised and ready for action, he waited.

Minutes later, a dark haired man approached the group and was soon buried among a crowd of people. Almost immediately, she turned straight around to face the man stood waiting in the corner, holding a small pill. For the first time in five years, she locked eyes on her stalker. He was met with a piercing stare, just as the shutter clicked. The two stood there for a moment, transfixed in the glory of the moment.

“Shit,” he muttered grabbing his case and sprinting for the nearest exit. Hearing screams and heels clattering after him, he stumbled into the black metallic-looking car outside dragging his case in after him. As the vehicle pulled away, he turned to face the man sat beside him, his eyes eager.

“Did you get it?” he asked inquisitively, brown floppy hair masking half of his symmetrical face.

As he caught sight of her in the dusty rear-view mirror staring after the car, he relaxed, slumped back into the seat and smiled, exchanging a smug glance with the man next to him; his right hand man and good friend.

“Excellent. How can he say no to us this time? That evidence in the paper would destroy his career, and he knows it,” he grinned.

“Fancy a drink to celebrate?” replied the other, beaming.
But before he could answer, the taxi screeched to a halt for the second time that evening and the pair lurched forwards in their seats, seatbelts cutting into their throats like blunt knives.

“S’cuse us mate, just another bloody cat in the way.” The driver grunted as he turned the corner off the dimly lit street.
“On second thoughts, I think we’d better call it a night.’

*************************************

Kasey sat alone in her room, her head spinning. Bright colours and intense patterns buzzed through her head and into the room from the TV, blaring out distorted words. Everything was a surreal dream, as far from reality as the imagination could bring. Stars spun above her head, voices cried from every corner of the room; moaning in insanity, laughing in anguish.

She let her head crash down upon the bed as a drum beat began to pound. Her fingers suddenly seemed very cold as they began to shiver and shake uncontrollably, yet the cool rain upon her cheek trickled down her face leaving a trail of salt and smudged mascara behind. Snatching a pen from her beside table, she fumbled for her diary among the shelf.

How could I have been so stupid? Dad warned me that people might be following, and I betrayed his trust. What will he think when that picture is spread across the newspapers tomorrow? I can’t believe I did it. Something I’d been bragging about for months and I didn’t even make the most of it. I’m sitting here alone in my room after demanding a ride home, waiting for the effects to wear off. I should probably have some water; don’t you get dehydrated when you take it? The room won’t stop spinning; it makes it hard to write. If I weren’t so worried I’d be drawing all the pretty patterns around me, but I can’t help but fret.

Oh Dad, what will you think of me now? Your 16 year old only child letting you down like this, it’s going to destroy your career! The Prime Minister’s daughter, taking pills, I’m sorry. But what can I do? Where can I go? I want to stop this, but I don’t know how. How could I have been so, so stupid?

Setting down the pen and book, she tumbled into a heavy and deep sleep, confused between dreams and reality. The TV spoke of firemen putting out a fire with pink water at a night club she’d visited that night. Faces swum smudged around her mumbling words of different languages before morphing into other objects. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, deep words pounding through her ears. The scene in the film where Kasey and Robert Lloyd first met replayed over and over again until she screamed and the movie ended.

****************************************************************888

A well-dressed man entered the room following a smart knock at my oak study door.
“Sir, this just arrived for you. Very urgent, apparently.” Clive, my butler passed me a letter with no stamp, postmark or address, his brown hair flopping once again in front of his eyes.

“Thank you Clive,” I replied, taking the letter and setting down my pen.

What could someone want at this hour that could be so important? Come to think of it, quite a lot. I tore open the letter and rummaged inside for the contents. My fingers clasped among a shiny smooth photograph which I pulled out and examined, along with a letter written on a typewriter with different letters in capitals.

Kasey…

Oh, that idiot girl. My fists clasped around the letter and it crumpled. My head filled with so many questions it seemed to overload, the words hitting the sides of my skull from every angle. I re-read the letter, glanced back at the photo. That was her alright; even in black and white there was no mistaking those unique eyes. Her mother’s eyes…

I relaxed for a second and thought back to her. What would she do now? Talk to her that’s what. But was there time? Midnight, they said. I couldn’t let her be humiliated like that; never mind see my career in tatters, again. But oh, I couldn’t think straight. After a few seconds pondering I shot up. Marching to the door I swung it open, the cold handle a slight relief to the burning heat flowing through my veins.

“Clive, Fetch me a taxi please. Quickly,” I called deeply down the corridor, the echoes bouncing off the thick walls.

Silence.

“Clive?” I tried again.

Nothing. I ran out into hall and sprinted down corridor after corridor thoughts racing through my mind. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, despite all the pressure the family and government were under at the moment. I stumbled into passers by, not stopping to apologise, until I got to the main entrance – just in time to see a car speeding out of the driveway. What was he doing?

Ramming open the door of one of the nearby vehicles I hopped inside and turned on the engine. It stuttered before dying and falling once more to silence. Seizing my mobile phone I dialled Kasey and waited squeezing my eyes shut; my breathing quick and shallow. No dial tone, no nothing. This wasn’t just a coincidence; this had been planned, and by someone clever at that. I knew what I had to do now; and it would save Kasey and the country. Not afraid, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.
Stepping slowly out of the car I turned to face the building of number ten. It’s perfectly aligned bricks, the shiny black door and the perfectly polished golden numbers reflecting light from the full moon up in the sky among the scattered stars. I’d miss it.

“Well Kasey,” I spoke aloud. “You’re worth this, I’ll give you that.’ Slipping out my phone and holding it up to my ear I waited, knowing that this would be the only number the device would allow me to dial.

“Mr President sir, it’s Carrington. I must regretfully inform you I am abandoning my position as of this point in time. Everything you need is on my desk, with all the evidence for an explanation of the next hour’s events. Emergency protocol 343 is about to be operated. Goodbye sir, its been an honour to work with you.’ Before he had a chance to reply, I snapped the telephone shut and snuck it into my blazer. I wasn’t going to give whoever was behind this the satisfaction they wanted.

I briskly walked up the short flight of stairs to number ten and pulled at the door, smiling at the officer at the entrance who stared blankly at me. Greeting everyone and anyone who passed me in the hallway on the return to my office, I sighed. Locking the door tightly shut, I picked up a pen and scribbled a note to Kasey.

Oh you silly girl, you! Be more careful next time. They’ll never get us, don’t worry. I love you darling. Dad x

Pulling out a small bottle from the draw of my desk, I unscrewed the cap and felt the liquid slide – icy cold – down my throat. I poured out a glass of whiskey and slid an old Beatles record into the player in the corner before settling down in my best leather-bound armchair. If this was only way out, so be it. Drifting into darkness, my last comforting thoughts were that Robert Lloyd would never get his hands on my daughter again or anywhere in government, by all means.

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Digital journalist for The Times - Red Box. natasha[dot]clark[at]thetimes[dot]co[dot]uk
Previously @TwitterUK, @politicshome and @thesundaytimes. Previously freelance for the Guardian and the Independent. I also work for What's New in Publishing and co-editing Wannabe Hacks.
Previously I was Editor @ The Boar, the University of Warwick students' newspaper. I am a graduate of History and Politics from Warwick, and of Newspaper Journalism at City University.
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